Our honeymoon: Part 2 (Paris)

I was sleeping (apparently with my mouth open, according to Sean), in our taxi from Charles de Gaulle airport when we arrived at the entrance to our hotel, Hilton Arc de Triomphe, in Paris. When I woke up and realized I was ACTUALLY in PARIS, I was kind of stunned.

Like, I couldn’t believe I was there. One of the hotel staff opened my car door and said in a high-pitched, cheerful voice, “Bonjour!” I stepped out the car and looked around me, at beautiful, old buildings. The doorman asked if I had ever been to Paris before, and I said “no,” kind of still groggy and in shock. It’s hard to explain, but I’ll never forget that feeling.

It was like I was sleeping, and then awoke, almost “hit,” pleasantly, of course, by Paris. Like, there I was. In Paris. Somewhere I had only dreamed about. And when I awoke from my dream, I was there.

After some showers and naps we started touring. The days that followed were blurry. We were go, go going for days. Seven, 8 hour-days of walking and sight-seeing. Street pastries and crepes. The Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, the Palace and town of Versailles. Notre Dame, the Louvre. Jewish museum, museum of national art. Fountains and parks and little shops. The busy metro system, which intimidated me at first, but I quickly got used to. Not much different than Washington, D.C. Just very busy people rushing around and squishing together.

We got our caricature done, which we paid a lot for, but it turned out TERRIBLE. It looks nothing like me and Sean. Maybe that will be the memory, though. A terrible portrait of us, that looks nothing like us, in Paris. For like 30 euro.

I could never sum up Paris in any amount of words, let alone a few sentences. But for blog purposes, I’ll try. It was marvelous. Busy and bustling and trendy and fashionable. Gay pride. Great food. Colors. Shopping. Street dancers and street art. Cafes everywhere. Espresso. (Of course). All the cafes have their outdoor seating facing the streets. People sit at these cafes, facing the streets, for hours, with their cigarettes and wine and espresso. Women with their lipstick and high heels. Men with their blazers. Poised, intelligent, smart, distinguished. Nobody sits inside. Everybody outside, squished together, at tiny tables on tiny chairs, no more than what seems like a centimeter apart. But they’re comfortable, content. Looking at Paris, looking at the world.

My favorite part of Paris was the Eiffel Tower. We decided to walk it (as far up as they would let us go), which was more than 700 steps. (Great workout in preparation for my chocolate crepe that followed!)

Maybe it sounds cliché, but the Eiffel Tower was what I was most looking forward to. It really is as big and beautiful in real life. Maybe it was my favorite part because I felt like it was an accomplishment. For someone who’s afraid of heights, “climbing” the Eiffel Tower was a feat for me. I basically overcome my other irrational fear of claustrophobia a few years ago when I spent 12 hours on a flight to Israel, and then toured the earth under the Western Wall for hours, through tiny little passageways. I even conquered my fear of public speaking last month at The Moth event in Washington, D.C. (See: “The night I became a storyteller”)

And heights. A fear I had yet to accomplish. I told Sean I was terrified to go up to the top of the Eiffel Tower. But the stairs were large and open and there were many railings and metal so you never felt like you could fall right off the edge. There were places to stop and take a break. But we didn’t need to. We powered up that Eiffel Tower like we were on a mission. (Ok, occasionally I stopped to take a picture). But we burned fuel. Boom, boom, boom up those steps. And the views were out of this world. The views WERE the world.

Like I said in my “wine and pastries” blog post, it could have very well been the massive amounts of espresso I was consuming that lead to my sleeplessness in Paris, but I also think it was the excitement of it all. Each morning I couldn’t wait to wake up and start the day. The night before I would plan my outfit (like I do in “real” life), and imagine all the fun things we’d see and do, and the amazing things we’d eat.

Paris was full of excitement. People from all over the world. Paris was PARIS. There’s really no other way to describe it. I think I couldn’t sleep in Paris because I was in Paris. It’s that simple. When you’re in Paris, you don’t sleep, you can’t sleep. You’re in PARIS.